


Hannibal Prompt Fics

by louise_lux



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Blood and Gore, Crossdressing Kink, Ficlet, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Prison, Prompt Fic, Rimming, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, hannigram ficlets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7648990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louise_lux/pseuds/louise_lux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the short Hannibal prompt fics I've written on Tumbr, collected in one place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burlesque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hannibal is a top billed burlesque performer at a high class but still seedy social club and Will is beat cop who's obsessed with him.

There was a ghost on stage. It was draped from crown to toes in thin sheets of something pale and thin. Silk, maybe. The lower edges of it shifted in the warm currents of air from the footlights.

Will and his partner had been called in to deal with a young woman caught dealing in the club toilets. Friday night, and it was their tenth callout in two hours. But he paused as he followed them out to the squad car, his attention caught by the eerie effect of the figure on stage. Burlesque was supposed to involve more lace and boas and arch looks, he was sure. Instead, there was a blank-faced apparition lit by a single dramatic beam. Head, arms, torso, everything was covered.

The figure on stage moved, suddenly, furiously, a pirouette and a vast leap, and then launched into dance. The layers of silk flattened against wide shoulders and a flat chest, the taut curve of a thigh, the line of a penis. Will realised the point of the silk. It covered everything but hid nothing. Secrecy was maintained behind a mask so thin it was almost not there.

He lost track of time, watching the man move. Each twist and turn held the promise of brutal power, and it drew him. Fleetingly, he saw a slice of bare skin as a sheet of silk lifted, ribs strong and moulded. He stepped closer, unthinking.

“You need any more help, officer?” One of the bouncers formed a wall at his elbow.

“No. Who’s the performer?”

“That’s the owner,” the man said. “Mr Lecter.” He wore a lemon yellow suit and an air of weariness, and topped Will by a shock of curly hair. “Used to be a ballet dancer, I heard, with some big-name troupe in Europe.”

“You heard? So you don’t know?”

“He’s a private man. He doesn’t do chitchat. You going to need to talk to him?”

“Maybe,” Will lied, his gaze pulled back to the dance. The audience was silent, voices hushed. They were as wound up in it as Will.

“He’s dancing every night for seven nights.”

Will could hear the scuff and faint thud of Lecter’s steps on the stage, the only clue to his exertion. “Do the veils ever come off?”

“Who knows? Do you want them to?”

Will couldn’t reply. He knew the answer to his own question. The veils would come off. First the feet, then the thighs, torso, arms, and finally the head. He knew it instinctively. The man on stage would finally be naked.

They’d caution the girl for a minor infraction. Will didn’t need to come back. But he already knew he would.


	2. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: hannibal and will sometime in s3, dancing

“Do you see it?” Hannibal asks. His head is tilted, and his gaze, locked to Will’s, is avid. The weight of it is intoxicating after going months without.

He rations these visits. Ostensibly they are to glean information.

Will closes his eyes. The bare metal planes of the interview room are replaced by marble and gilt and crystal. He redresses Hannibal, swapping faded overalls for a tuxedo. Replaces his sunless pallor with robust good health. But it’s not enough. He wants to be lulled by Hannibal’s voice. “Describe it to me, that evening.”

Hannibal speaks softly, an intimacy to his voice that would be more suited to the bedroom. “She wore Valentino. It was the first dress that I bought for her. We found it together on the Avenue Montaigne. The midnight blue suited her extremely well.”

“A pearl laid on velvet.”

“The orchestra played Dvorak. We danced. We discussed a summer holiday. She wanted to visit Portofino. She talked of the future.”

“Was she trying to escape her present, Dr Lecter?” Behind his eyes he watched them move together, elegant lovers wound together with secrets. He pressed his palms flat to the cold table, misery itching along his spine.

Bedelia, alive or dead, has never been found. Hannibal has repulsed all attempts to pry the truth from him, and he will also refuse today. Probably. Will can go back to the BAU and tell them he’s tried.

They fall silent for several moments, and he can hear Hannibal’s soft steady breaths, feels his gaze on his skin.

“Do you tell your wife that you visit me?” Hannibal says.

Will swallows. Hannibal has never mentioned Molly before, never even alluded to her existence. He shouldn’t reply. He won’t. But he shakes his head. He hasn’t told her. He keeps these visits locked away in the dark places of his heart. He won’t share Hannibal. He doesn’t know what it means for their marriage. It might mean everything.

“What else do you see?” Hannibal says softly. He sounds pleased. Will daren’t open his eyes.

The ballroom shimmers around him. His footsteps ring on the marble floor as he approaches Hannibal, who is holding out his hand. The other couples are smudges of movement, nothing more.

He takes Hannibal’s hand in his, settles his other hand on Hannibal’s arm, pulls him so close that it must look unseemly. Hannibal smiles at him, and they move off. He’s never danced like this in his life, but it’s easy. He follows Hannibal’s lead.

They turn, straight backed, clasped tight together. Hannibal’s arms are strong, and they’d support him if he stumbled, would keep him safe if he faltered. Beneath his clothes he is a sleek animal, and Will can feel his power radiating like heat. What did Bedelia hope for, at this moment? Freedom, or revenge?

“I see us. You and me,” Will says. He opens his eyes, and faces the truth. He wishes he’d been in her place. “You’re leading. Just as you always have.”


	3. A Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from Antipasto. Hannibal visits Dimmond, drawn by his likeness to Will.

Anthony Dimmond was too easy to follow. Perhaps that was his intention. He walked with the long lazy stride of someone who had encountered very few obstacles in his life. Or at least that was the impression that he wanted to give.

Hannibal tracked him across dark squares and along the narrow streets of the old town until they arrived at a townhouse typical of the area. Someone had placed two box trees in planters at the foot of the steps. There were four doorbells. Dimmond opened the door and went in, and after a few moments, lights came on in the tall second floor windows. Dimmond came to the window, looked out at him, and smiled.

Hannibal smiled back.

*

Dimmond came back down and opened the door for him. His smile was warm and knowing, and it reached his eyes as he leaned against the doorjamb. “Couldn’t you sleep, Dr Jakov? I didn’t take you for a night-time prowler.”

“I found myself thinking of you. I wanted to see you.”

He meant it literally. Looking at him was like looking at a shadow of love, and he craved it. Of course, he resented it in equal measure. Dimmond’s eyes widened and he backed up and let him in. “I’m glad I made such an impression. But your wife… ? At dinner she didn’t seem the type who’d want to share.”

“Bedelia understands me.” He smiled at Dimmond. “We understand each other.”

*

“You have a beautiful body,” Dimmond said, poised over him on all fours.

They were both naked now. He’d peeled off Hannibal’s clothes, and had pushed Hannibal back gently onto his bed, had spread him out and kissed him slowly. He was taller than Will, less muscled, the comparison less easy to see like this, and Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment. The sudden ache of loss jarred him. This was not the man he wanted.

Perhaps Dimmond felt his tension, because he made a soothing sound and stroked a gentle hand down his side.

“God, you’re amazing. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.” Dimmond kissed him again, hungrier. “But I bet you’ve heard that before.”

“No,” Hannibal said. He pushed his fingers through dark curls, watching them slide over his knuckles. “I never have.”

An ache shuddered through him, almost painful. He hooked his hand behind Dimmond’s neck and pulled him down into a deeper kiss, blinding them both to the other until they were simply two bodies pushing and moving together. Dimmond’s heart ran tap-tap-tap against his chest, and he ran his hands down Hannibal’s sides, over his hips and down to his ass, pulling and squeezing at him until he was spread open.

“You fascinate me,” Dimmond said, softly, gazing down at him, hands tight on his body. “You appear from nowhere, stalking into my life like some sort of dangerous animal. You looked as out of place at Fell’s party as a wolf in a roomful of sheep.”

“Are you another wolf, or are you a sheep?”

“That remains to be seen. I feel like it’s fate that we met that night, and again here. Don’t you?”

Hannibal gazed up at him. “Do you believe in fate?”

“’ _Do not be afraid: our fate cannot be taken from us: it is a gift._ ‘”

“Death is the only certainty. But Professor Sogliato would prefer you quote Dante in the original.”

Dimmond’s smile faded, and he ground down against Hannibal’s cock. “Professor Sogliato can go and fuck himself. While I fuck you. Turn over.”

“You presume to know what I want?”

Dimmond gazed down at him, his eyes glinting. He pushed down again. “You’ve been asking for this all evening, don’t deny it. You’re desperate for a man.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. Hannibal rolled over onto his stomach, and turned his head and felt heat and breath on his back and shoulders. Male hands on him. “I want you,” he said, the words fleeing into cool air, and was surprised by how rough his voice had become. How utterly it betrayed him.

Dimmond ran his hands down Hannibal’s back, down to his ass. He palmed his cheeks, parting them gently. He slid his thumbs against Hannibal’s opening. “I want to eat you.”

His tongue pushed in seconds later, slick wet muscle moving inside him, licking at him. Hannibal hung his head, and behind his closed eyes there was Will, face bloodied and gazing up at him. Heat scalded his face. He pressed it to the pillow, and canted his hips back and up. There was a low moan behind him, hot on his wet skin. Dimmond licked slowly down over his perineum, down to his balls and the base of his cock. He lingered there, then trailed back up and slid his tongue inside him, to thrust in and out slowly.

“Please,” Hannibal said. In the theatre of his imagination, seating for one only, Will was above him, was with him here in Florence living the life they could have had. Perhaps it would have even included this. He pushed back, his desperation growing, and saw Will at the moment of orgasm, inside him, wanting him in all ways. He heard his own growl and felt reality slipping away, and only caught it by the tip of its tail.

“I knew you’d be a animal for this,” Dimmond whispered. “Look at you.” He licked him more, wetly, lavishly, opening him up. The puff of his breaths came faster and hotter on Hannibal’s skin until there was the flip of a plastic bottle cap, and the chemical scent of lubricant. Hannibal stayed still, breathing slowly. He shouldn’t have come here, it was an indulgence. “I’ve got to- I want you so much.”

Slick, hard, pushing in, and a low hungry moan. Hannibal gripped the sheets in both hands and let himself be taken. Dimmond was not gentle, and Hannibal was glad. He hammered him into the bed, long hard thrusts, and slid a wet hand around his cock. Then he stopped.

“I don’t think you’re really here,” Dimmond said, leaning down low to his ear. “Not that I don’t appreciate your body, but I feel your mind’s wandering. Where are you, and who are you with?”

Will was not here. Not yet. He should put Will aside for now. There was value and beauty to every moment, if one could find it. “Believe me, Anthony, I’m very much with you.”

Dimmond was still for a moment, then pressed his lips to Hannibal’s shoulder and began to move again in slow steady thrusts. He was a good lover, careful and careless at the same time. Hannibal let himself be coaxed to orgasm, and it was satisfying, and afterwards they lay together in a warm tangle. Dimmond touched him, chest, arms, stomach.

“Does your wife actually know you’re here?”

“Does it concern you?”

Dimmond propped his head on one hand and smiled, warm and sweetly. “I don’t mean to pry. I know so little about you. I understand even less.”

“Trust me, that’s for the best.”


	4. Digestivo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has Hannibal tied up and collared.

Will stood behind Hannibal, in the small space of the sty. He gripped his knife, and studied Hannibal’s exposed neck. Hannibal was strung up, just as Mason’s men had once tied him. Arms hauled back, throat heavily collared, on his knees amid the straw. Sweat and blood slicked his back and buttocks. The whip marks Will had left on him stood out in dark red wheals. Exhaustion gave Hannibal’s words a rough edge, as if he didn’t have enough breath left to finish them.

“Do you want me to free you?” Will asked. The world pounded around him in red and black. He could do anything to Hannibal. He might. He would.

“You’ll do whatever is just. You always do.”

Will smiled. “Not always.”

“Do you see me as less than human, like this?”

“I’ve never seen you as less than anything.” And he reached out and touched Hannibal like he’d wanted to for hours. 

He slid his palm down Hannibal’s spine, gathering blood and sweat in a small wave against his fingertips, until he reached the cleft between Hannibal’s cheeks, and could flood him there. Hannibal’s breath caught.

“Will,” he said, and it was almost pleading.

The pleading was for Will, intended to please him. Hannibal maintained that all of this was for Will, to allow him a moment when love would turn itself inside out. But love and death were the same thing to Hannibal.

Will pressed a fingertip into him. Below him, Hannibal hung his head. His cock was heavy and thick under him, his balls tight. “I know it excites you too, to be strung up like a caged pig.” Will leaned down over his back. Heat boiled off Hannibal’s body. “You’re always so sure I’ll let you go, but perhaps this time I won’t.” Hannibal’s body tightened on his finger, slick and hungry. “Kept in a sty for the rest of your life. There’s a certain poetic justice to that. The pigs you’ve eaten would surely agree.”

“They can’t agree to anything, anymore.”

“No they can’t. Neither can you.”

He withdrew his finger and stroked himself with it, pulling Hannibal’s residual heat along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. The place where they were living, no one had found them. Possibly no one ever would unless they made a mistake. Unless one day Will took this game too far. He tightened his grip on the knife in his hand, then thrust it down into the soft wood of a post.

He caught hold of Hannibal’s hips and pulled them up, bent his own knees a little and lined up his cock. He kept his gaze locked on the smears of blood on Hannibal’s back. Words formed in the patterns, a prayer for the helpless. He’d hurt Hannibal with a whip, and this would hurt him too. It should hurt Will, somewhere, but it _didn’t_. If he closed his eyes he could see Hannibal’s cool curious smile.

He was unable to keep in a groan as the head of his cock breached Hannibal’s body. Will had slicked him hours ago with his fingers, with the collar so binding around Hannibal’s neck that he’d been almost unconscious.

He pulled it tight again now and thrust in hard. Then again, and again, letting all sense of himself become fluid, as if he and Hannibal were flowing into one, fucking him hard until wet slaps rang in the close air, until every thrust felt like an assault. A long low growl escaped his throat, and Hannibal arched back hard against him. He moved both hands to Hannibal’s hair, gripping tight to yank his head back, to stretch that neck into an arc. He moaned at the sight below him, then flattened himself along Hannibal’s back and stayed like that, buried deep.

“This is barely a game any longer,” Hannibal said, his voice slow and thick.

Will pressed his lips to Hannibal’s neck, and then his jaw. Their bodies were so tightly joined that they seemed to only have a single pulse. Hannibal’s heart shook both their bodies.

“It never was,” Will said, between small seismic tremors, between kisses. “How long do you think you can take this? Another hour? Another twelve? Shall I find out? Which room of your palace will you try to hide in? I’ll follow you, close the doors, turn each one into this sty. What would you do then?”

Hannibal’s arms were shaking, each tendon strung like rope in his forearms. “What would you have me do, Will?”

“Accept this. Surrender. Give everything you are to me. Don’t fight me.”

Hannibal convulsed under him, his spine arching and every muscle of his body pulling taut as he came. Streaks of white spattered down across the tiles and the straw. Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s chest and thrust in slowly, letting the ache of pleasure pull tight like a knot in his belly until he came deep inside him. Hannibal let out a slow shaking breath and said his name.

Will found the knife and cut the ropes and unclipped the collar. It all fell off, tangling in coils on the floor. Will eased Hannibal down, and collapsed next to him. It took several minutes for Hannibal to open his eyes, and when he did they were wondering and soft. He stroked Will’s cheek.

“What will you do with me, now that I have surrendered so wholly to you?”

Will smiled. “Offer you my protection. Shield you.”

Hannibal leaned in and kissed him, slow and clinging, as if that was all he had ever wanted to hear. He stroked Will’s cheek, neck, shoulder, fingertips skating delicately as if he were handling a rare artifact. There were golden flecks in his eyes, like autumn sunlight on a stream. “No, you mean to shield the world from me.”

“That too.”

“But you know you cannot,” Hannibal said. “And then, when you cannot, will you want to chain me in here forever?”

The monster in his belly stirred afresh at that notion, but cold was seeping up from the floor and he needed to clean Hannibal’s wounds. How many times had he taken Hannibal like this? He could count them on one hand, and each time felt like a step closer to an answer to Hannibal’s question.


	5. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: post-fall, Will giving Hannibal a blowjob for the first time

Their room is plain, only populated by the neatly folded contents of their travel bags, and the usual hotel offerings of cheap pens, paper and soap. It’s a sterile beige prison, but for tonight they’ve formed a cocoon at its core and they lie in it, naked and close. Hannibal’s mouth is on his constantly, hungrily, and on his neck, his jaw, his collarbones. Hannibal’s bandages are clean. For the first time since he’s worn them, there are no blood stains on them.

Will slides down the bed on his knees, and Hannibal reaches for him. Will is the supple one, for now, able to bend and move at least a little.

“Where are you going?” Hannibal says. It might sound as if he’s poking fun, gently. He’s not though. They’ve hardly been able to be in different rooms since they left the US.

Will puts his hands flat on the bed, either side of Hannibal’s hips. His mouth is close to its goal. Hannibal’s cock, smooth and hot, twitches on his stomach, dark against the bandage. He looks up Hannibal’s body to meet his eyes. “I want to know how you taste.”

With his legs spread, feet flat on the sheets, sweat on his chest, Hannibal looks wholly human. He’s looking down at Will with an expression of wonder, as if he doesn’t know what to expect. His pupils have dilated, and his red-brown eyes look black. They send a tremor down Will’s spine. A low hoarse moan escapes Hannibal’s lips, and he falls back on the pillow. He lays his hands on Will’s head, and slides his fingers through his hair.

It’s the first time Will’s had a close-up view. He studies the curve of the head, and the folds of skin and veins that curve up around the length of the shaft. It’s so hot against his tongue when he licks it. He does it again, and then again, all the way up to the head, licking up the fluid there, suddenly ravenous to get the taste of him. He curls his hand around the base and guides Hannibal’s cock into his mouth, as much as he can fit. It’s not much, but it’s enough. He strokes it as much as he sucks it. This flesh in his mouth, he realises, with a swoop of his stomach, is his to do with as he likes.

Hannibal’s touch on his hair becomes so much lighter, like the delicate weight of a bird. The muscles in his legs flex. His breathing changes. It hasn’t taken long.

“Will,” he says. His voice is like a touch. “I’m nearly there.”

Will makes as much a sound of assent as he can. Hannibal doesn’t try to pull out, and Will doesn’t move his mouth away. Hannibal comes in a hot rush into his mouth, and Will swallows each pulse of it, lost in it, taking it down before he really realises it.

He lets Hannibal’s cock slide out of his mouth afterwards, and presses his forehead to Hannibal’s hip. His mouth is alive with the alkaline tang of semen. Hannibal pushes his fingers through Will’s curls.

The swapping of body fluids is hardly a mystical act, but the posture of worship feels appropriate. Finally, he raises his head and crawls up the bed. Hannibal moves closer, and Will lays his head on his chest.

“Are you satisfied?” Hannibal asks.

“For now,” Will says.


	6. Aperitif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rewatch drabble for S1E01 Aperitif

The man, Hobbs, was dead. That satisfied Hannibal to an unusual degree. He considered this reaction, watching as blood pooled on the linoleum. Will Graham’s hands were shaking too badly to effectively stem the girl’s blood. Her death was imminent.

He would need to act soon, to show willing. But not quite yet.

Chiyoh’s had shook similarly when he’d told her of Mischa’s murder. They might almost be siblings, Will and Hobbs’s daughter. Two dark heads bent close together. Memories shifted, cellar-dank.

He knelt and moved Will’s hands away, feeling opportunities open up, fresh and bloody, under his fingers.


	7. Once Upon a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post s3, Hannibal is in prison, reworking his memories to comfort himself.

The ballroom was floored with Carrera marble. A poor choice for dancing, but it gleamed prettily in the soft lights, so he kept it. He also kept the elegant sweep of other couples, the gleam of diamonds and crystal. He upgraded the chamber orchestra to a far finer one, but kept the Dvorak. 

He rarely recast his memories, finding it false and displeasing when there was so much to enjoy in the world. But today had not been a good day. A ballroom in Florence, then, with his preferred partner.

Will had never stepped onto this floor, but Hannibal conjured him now behind closed eyes. They were closed often, these days. Little to open them for. 

Will led him with light, the very lightest, suggestions, with his hand correctly at Hannibal’s waist. Would Will know the steps of the waltz? Hannibal doubted it, but he gladly supplied him with that skill now, and re-figured his own steps into the woman’s part. They moved together in perfect union. A striking couple.

“Do you really believe you have room in your heart for her?” Hannibal said.

“What’s the matter? Can’t deal with sharing me?” Will said, smiling. The dark triumph in his eyes, the low intimacy of his voice, they were everything. “Are you beginning to regret giving yourself up?”

“No. You’ll need me, one day. You will come back.”

Will leaned in to kiss him. In Hannibal’s mind palace, Will did as he liked. Conversations would often go askew, and Hannibal would be left with a sense of groping blindly towards a truth that only Will could see. On his cot, watched only by the monitor, Hannibal’s feet and hands moved very slightly. The kiss was a wisp of a touch, more breath than body, and Hannibal chased it, wanting, wanting.

“What is it you really want to know, Hannibal?” Will said.

“Do you want me, still?”

“You know the answer to that.” Will slid his arm around Hannibal’s waist, kissing him deeply, roughly. He bent Hannibal back easily.

The waxed cloth of Will’s coat was cool under his palm. Hannibal had wanted to dress him in a St Laurent suit he’d seen in Paris. The blue grey wool would have been a perfect match for Will’s eyes, the narrow cut flattering to his physique. Nothing had stuck. Will had reverted into things composed of flannel or canvas or mixed fibres, slipping through Hannibal’s imagination like oil. He would not let Hannibal unmake him, not even like this.

A trolley rattled somewhere, grey rubber wheels squeaking. Will vanished and Hannibal was left with empty arms. He closed the ballroom door and opened his eyes, unhappier than he cared to admit. The ice cold sky looked down at him from the skylight of his cell, darkening already, and a rare scream budded on his tongue, nudging to be loosed.

Denise shoved a tray of food through the slot. Earlier she had dropped off a note from Alana, who had wanted him to know that Will had recently married. Hannibal had briefly and lavishly imagined this unknown woman, and then Alana, dead.

This toss of the coin might have been a mistake. Perhaps Will would never need him. Will, disappeared into the wilds with a woman that Hannibal had never met. Possibly a child, too. It occurred to him that Will might be happy.

He ate, then lay down and reopened the door to the ballroom.


	8. Follow Your Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hannibal touch-starved from his long confinement. Hannigram, set immediately after s3, with a special appearance by sex tears.

Will sat in a chair by the bed, numb and drowsy in the warm room. It was white and minimal and had a plate glass window that overlooked a deep green valley cut between distant mountains. Montana? Colorado? Will stood and walked to it, looking out. No other houses at all. No clue.

Chiyoh had rescued them, sedated them, bandaged them and then loaded them both into the back of a van as Will drifted in and out of consciousness. She’d driven for a very long time. She’d relieved him of his phone at some point. There were none in the house. He’d checked.

His old life was over, and all he felt was exhausted relief. He went back to his chair and carried on his self-appointed job of watching over Hannibal.

Will woke some time later, thick headed and heavy eyed and with a sense that something had changed. The house faced west, and the outlandish peaches and pinks of sunset splashed over the mountains. The corners of the room were in shadow.

Hannibal was watching him, awake at last. “Will?” he said. His voice was rusty and soft.

“I’m here.” He moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He held up water for Hannibal to drink, watched him gulp it down, and then set down the empty glass. “Better?”

Hannibal lay back on the pillows and stared at him. “We lived.”

“Just about. Unless this is Hell’s waiting room.” Hannibal’s bruised and cut hands lay on the sheets. After a moment Will took one between his own. Hannibal drew a shocked breath and curled his fingers around Will’s, crushingly tight.

It did feel odd to be holding his hand, very odd. But it also felt right.

“If I’d known holding your hand would make you so happy I’d have done it days ago,” Will said, smoothing his palm over knuckles and bone, careful of the scrapes and bruises.

“How long have I been out?”

“Four days, at a guess. I was out for at least one. Chiyoh’s gone.”

Hannibal nodded, staring up at him like a man having a vision. His grip tightened until he was hanging onto Will’s hand as if it were his only anchor to life. His eyes were wet.

“Hey, come on,” Will said, as soothingly as he could. His own throat grew tight. “Move over.”

Hannibal shifted on the bed, making room. Will lay down in the shadow of his warmth and laid his head on the pillow. He turned onto his side.

“I thought we would die,” Hannibal said. He gazed at Will. “I was willing to die with you.”

“I feel like we won a game of poker against God.”

“He plays a very dirty game. We’re lucky to have won.”

“We play dirtier,” Will said softly, reaching out to touch him.

The sturdy column of Hannibal’s neck was addictively warm, and Hannibal’s eyes fluttered closed as Will moved up to cup his jaw. Hannibal didn’t seem to mind, just the opposite, so Will went further, reaching up to stroke his hair, feeling the shape of his skull and how his hair was still rough with salt. Hannibal’s lips parted and his lids fluttered again. He whispered Will’s name as if pleading for more.

The sensual rush of that was dizzying. Will edged closer until their bodies were pressed together, only separated by the sheets. Hannibal shifted too, reaching for him.

“Careful,” Will said. “Don’t move too much, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Pain tells me I’m alive,” Hannibal said, ignoring him and pressing close. He touched Will’s hair, his temple, trailing his fingertips down to jaw and neck, down under his shirt collar. Will shivered, and Hannibal began to undo the buttons, working slowly until Will’s shirt fell open.

When was the last time Hannibal had touched, or been touched, like this? With Alana? No, Bedelia. Will was sure of it. So pleased with herself, behind the veil.

“Did you touch her?” he said. He could still summon up plenty of bitterness, it seemed, even now. Hannibal had his palm flat on Will’s chest, fingers splayed. His lashes were dark and spiky with half-spilt tears.

He knew exactly who Will meant, of course. “I washed her hair. Kissed her neck. Kissed her lips, once.”

Will let his hand slide down over Hannibal’s bare chest, gently over the bandages, right down to the waistband of his pyjama pants. He pushed his hand inside, fingers brushing the hard line of Hannibal’s groin, and then the softness of his cock. It swelled, and Hannibal’s breathing hitched.

“Will,” he said. “My love.”

He was unravelling, coming undone before Will’s eyes, and Will only wanted to see more. Did Hannibal see the same in him? He must. Will felt as if he were flying apart.

“Kiss me,” he said. More of a demand than anything else, but Hannibal did. He took Will in his arms, groaning at the contact, hands curling over Will’s hip and waist. Will laid a trembling hand over Hannibal’s heart, feeling it beat like thunder.

Will could touch him as he liked, he realised, inside and out. Hannibal was his.


	9. Housewife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hannibal in a housewife apron

“Hannibal?” Will said, coming in from the yard. “I’ve been waiting out there for fifteen minutes!”

He’d told Will he’d come and help rig up the block and tackle in the barn. Hannibal wanted to butcher the animals Will was hunting. Will was all for it. Anything to keep him occupied, and he had to admit the meat somehow tasted better, knowing they’d caught and prepared it themselves. He slipped off his jacket and rubbed his hands together, chafing warmth into them. It was late spring now, but the wind here still had a bite to it. “Hannibal?”

He walked to the kitchen. It was a likely bet Hannibal would be there. Maybe he was making coffee to bring out, or… Will stopped in the doorway.

Hannibal was at the counter, his back to Will. He was naked. No, almost naked, and he was chopping something. It smelled like thyme, sweet and almost acrid. He turned his head and looked at Will over his shoulder. “I decided I wanted to cook you something, instead.”

“Okay,” Will said, slowly. “That’s fine.” He bit his lip. “You’re wearing it. I– didn’t expect that.”

“Do you like it?”

Will had bought him the apron mostly as a joke. It was antique French linen, unused, powder blue and decorated with small white polka dots. Hannibal had looked at it blankly and had put it away, until today. But now it appeared that he liked it very much. Why, was less clear.

“I do,” Will said. It was very difficult to look at anything except Hannibal’s ass, the firm curves of it framed perfectly. The apron had a frill along its edge, made of some stiff gauzy stuff. The contrast of it against the hard muscle of Hannibal’s thighs made Will’s breath come short. “It’s growing on me.”

“You can help cook, if you like,” Hannibal said. He sounded very level, very calm, as if this were usual.

“Not sure I’d be much help.” Will came up behind him, and put his hands on Hannibal’s hips, his workboots nudging Hannibal’s bare feet.

He ran his hands up over Hannibal’s naked ass. The apron ties made an immaculate bow at the small of his back. How long had he spent tying it, to get it that perfect? Will touched it, then pressed his lips to Hannibal’s neck. He’d stopped chopping.

“Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you,” Will said. 

He saw Hannibal’s soft smile and was pleased. He kissed Hannibal’s neck again, inhaling thyme and soap, wishing that he had Hannibal’s acuity and could pick up every scent off him. Hunger hit him, and it had nothing to do with food. He swallowed, his cock swelling fast, hard enough now for it to be uncomfortable. He undid himself quickly, pushing everything down.

Hannibal put down the knife and pushed back against him. “No, no, don’t stop,” Will said. “Thought you wanted to cook for me?”

He pressed close, pushing his cock against Hannibal’s body, sliding up between his cheeks. Hannibal was slick and wet, had done that to himself so that Will could have him easily. Christ.

“You look pretty,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s waist. He looked down, hazy with desire, more than ready. “Bend over.”

“Will,” Hannibal said. He bent at the waist, dipping his back and spreading his thighs apart. “Is this good?” he said.

Will paused, absorbing that particular tone of voice as its meaning gradually came to him. Hannibal sounded as if he were asking for approval, as if all he wanted to do was please Will. As if life could consist of such simple exchanges. Husband and wife. Command and obey. Did Hannibal want to fantasise their life was so simple?

Fuck. Yes, he did. Will almost moaned at the realisation. The moment of deduction always shook him, but not usually like this. 

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” Will said. He’d never called Hannibal any such thing before, but now Hannibal actually made a soft needy sound. “Pretty thing.”

He bent over Hannibal’s back, lining his cock up against the heat of Hannibal’s hole. It gave against just a little pressure, and Will pushed slowly in, not stopping until he was seated deep, balls tight to Hannibal’s ass. He ran his fingertip around the seam of their bodies, listening to the blurry rush of his own pulse.

“I want to please you,” Hannibal said, low and raw.

“I know. You’ll do anything for me, won’t you? Anything I want?” He leaned down, flattening over Hannibal’s back, letting him feel his weight. It sank him deeper into Hannibal’s tight slick heat and he had struggle to breathe.

Hannibal arched his back, gasping, and squeezed down on him. Will reached for the bow, twisting his hand in it to keep him still. Hannibal turned his head, mouth slack and eyes heavy lidded.

“Yes, Will. I’d do anything.”

The inexact meaning hung heavily between them, depthless and terrifying, and it just made Will harder. He groaned at what Hannibal’s concept of anything might mean, what monstrous things, and began to move, moaning, pushing against the pillowy curve of Hannibal’s ass, sliding his hands down to grip his narrow hips. 

“You’re so good to me,” he said, lips muffled against Hannibal’s skin. “Dressing yourself up for me.” His orgasm was beginning to unfurl already, and he began to pound into him. “You always look so good.” He reached under Hannibal’s body to take him in hand, hot, slick and hard.

“I only want to please you,” Hannibal said. “It’s all I have.”

“Oh, fuck, you do,” Will breathed. “Everything you do, say, think… ”

Hannibal came over his fingers with a broken moan, his body squeezing down on Will’s cock helplessly. Will let himself go, thrusting wildly into Hannibal’s shaking body, his hole fucked open and soft. Will closed his eyes and came, seeing himself and Hannibal against a blood-red ground, two bodies joined.

Afterwards, he eased Hannibal up and walked them to the bedroom, where they lay down. Will eased Hannibal’s head onto his chest. He still wore the apron.

“It’s pretty much ruined,” Will said, pulling at the ties. He undid the bow and pulled it off, easing it from under Hannibal’s waist and dropping it on the floor.

“I’ll try to clean it. I would like to keep it,” Hannibal said, drowsily. “Wear it again for you.”

Will ran his hands through Hannibal’s hair. It was getting long, and gave him a loose, freer look. The look of a man with few cares. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Is it really necessary?”

From anyone else it would sound like avoidance, but with Hannibal it was simply the truth. They already had. The conversation had just taken other forms.

Will kissed his hair and tightened his arm around Hannibal’s shoulders. “No, it’s not.”


End file.
